


Sexy Time

by RenaRoo



Series: Hero Time [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, sorry it's hero time sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9240845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: [Hero Time AU] Wash and Tucker find themselves in a precarious situation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> To @secretlystephaniebrown, @goodluckdetective, @littlefists, and @a-taller-tale and literally everyone else who has been waiting on this horrendous thing to be published. I apologize for you all.

When he opened his eyes, he saw… well he, saw nothing, actually. Which was unusual. _Normally_ when he was captured, they weren’t that good at making blindfolds. 

“Well, this will take some patience,” Washington muttered, testing how much movement he had in his limbs under the current restraints. It wasn’t _much._ And his back was being kept stiff as a board against something flushed and warm against his–

“Yeah, and could you _not_ do that?” 

There was a measured pause as Wash tried to take in all of his senses and observations, really make sure that an overreaction wasn’t about to come out of his mouth. 

But once that time passed, he was still on the verge of a freak out.

 _“TUCKER!?”_ he cried out.

“Not so loud, holy shit, have you never been a hostage before?” Tucker asked critically. “I’ve had some practice. Here’s a tip: _shut up.”_

For a moment, Wash tried – legitimately _tried –_ to allow the advice to sink in, but there was a throbbing headache and the growing fear that he and his partner were actually, legitimately, completely at the will of some unknown force. 

“We’re hostages?” he asked critically instead.

“Yeah, and, uh, don’t freak out about the other aspect of it.”

Squinting beneath his blindfold, as if it held _any_ effect whatsoever, Wash tried to decipher what Tucker could have possibly meant by that. But there were more pressing matters, like getting them out alive, kicking the asses of whoever kidnapped them, and… and…

Wash pulled against his restraints once more to the vocal annoyance of Tucker, then he laid back, flush against his partner’s bare back. “I’m in my underwear,” he realized out loud.

“Lucky you,” Tucker snorted.

Once more, Washington let the statement sink in, then he began pulling against the restraints in a different, more complying way that was obviously distressing to Tucker. 

“Hey! Stop wiggling – it’s getting tighter!” Tucker wheezed just before Wash’s fingers found purchase. 

Wash scowled before pinching Tucker’s ass cheek, more than familiar with it, and getting a cry out from his partner. 

“Wash, what the fuck–”

“ _Why are you naked?”_ Wash demanded. 

“Because I was in bed, asshole! You know I don’t wear anything in bed!” Tucker snapped back, wiggling in recourse and causing the bindings on Wash’s side to painfully tighten and stretch in peculiar ways. 

“We were kidnapped in our sleep?” Wash asked, trying desperately to remember what happened before waking up in their current predicament.

“When else am I naked and you in your underwear?” Tucker deadpanned.

For a moment, Wash thought it over. “Well–”

“Okay, point made, but this is _definitely_ not my birthday,” Tucker countered.

“Then what is this? Why aren’t our throats slit yet?” Wash demanded.

Tucker stopped his own wiggling and rested back against Wash’s back. He was radiating heat which made Wash realize for the first time since waking just how cold laying nearly naked on a floor actually was. 

On the bright side, Tucker was probably even colder. 

“Why would you even say that? Oh my god,” Tucker whined. 

"Because in my experience, being tied up by ones’ enemies and stripped of any utility belt – therefore any _weapons_ – tends to end with a distinct possibility of death,” Washington answered evenly, though internally he was grasping for any straws whatsoever – ideas, hopes, prayers? It was hard to decide what to do at that point. 

Everything was so disorienting.

“In _your_ experience?” Tucker snorted skeptically.

“Yes, my experience – what could you _possibly_ be laughing about?” Wash demanded. 

“I hate to break it to you, Wash, but between the two of us, I’m pretty sure _I’ve_ gotten the raw end of the deal with the whole kidnapping business over the years,” Tucker assured him. 

“Don’t be overdramatic,” Wash snapped. “I’ve been involved with superheroing before you even met Tex in that diner.”

Tucker huffed. “It was a _cafeteria._ I happened to be quite the cashier–”

“You _don’t_ have more experience than me,” Wash cut his partner off incredulously. “And I’ve been captured many times. In very elaborate traps! Usually more elaborate than being tied together with a naked citizen.”

“ _Your_ naked citizen,” Tucker corrected immediately.

“You’re right, my bad. _My_ naked citizen,” Wash huffed almost fondly. He then quickly snapped himself out of it. “In any case, they’ll want to kill at _least_ me soon, and possibly you along with me, so I need to act fast.”

Wash then lurched forward to test the bindings across his chest and biceps only to receive an unexpected yowl of pain from Tucker. Almost immediately, Wash’s heart leaped into his throat. 

He stopped moving and craned his neck back in a vain attempt to see past the blindfold and check on his partner. 

“Tucker!? Tucker, are you okay!? What the hell happened?”

“Stop wiggling!” Tucker pleaded. 

“I will,” Wash said, becoming uncomfortably still. “What happened when I pulled? Is there some contraption you’re attached to? I don’t understand–”

“No, dude, that leather or whatever it is goes right across my nipples,” Tucker whined. “They’re sensitive.”

“Oh, grow up. I’ve been listening to that for twelve years,” Wash groaned in aggravation. “You get any shirt less than one hundred precent cotton–”

“Dude, it’s the price of sensitive nipples, I’ve told you before!” Tucker replied critically. “They’re constantly erect. Bow chicka bow wow.”

Washington only sighed. 

“If that’s the only issue, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to grin and bear it because we’re _getting out of here,”_ Wash said firmly. “They’ll be back any second to put an end to us–”

“Dude, you _really_ don’t get it, do you?” Tucker asked, almost pitying. 

“Get what?” Wash demanded.

“If they were planning on slitting your throat, don’t you think they would have done that earlier? Like, I don’t know, when we were in bed asleep? Instead of knocking us out entirely, moving locations, and tying us together?” Tucker prodded.

“Wait, you can _see?_ Why do they have me blindfolded and not you?” Wash asked, irritated with the unfairness.

“I don’t know, why do you have your underwear and I don’t?” Tucker asked.

“Because you don’t _own_ any,” Wash said, unable to leave the disgust from his tone. 

“Hell no, I don’t,” Tucker chuckled. “But really, it’s probably because it’s dark as fuck wherever we are and I can only make out a little bit, but Mister Cat-eyes could probably do more with the circumstances.”

“Cats don’t _literally_ see in the dark, it’s more nuanced than that–” Wash began, only for Tucker to force a cough. “Yes, okay you have a point.”

“And _you_ keep changing subject because I think you know what I’m about to say,” Tucker replied crisply.

Wash squinted beneath his blindfold again. “That being…?” 

“You honestly don’t get it,” Tucker sighed. “Oh, Wash. I didn’t want to have this talk with you for at _least_ another week. Oh, wait, no. I’ve been having this same talk with you for like three years.”

“What?” Wash demanded.

“Dude, you’re old as fuck,” Tucker snapped. “You’re at Superhero Social Security Withdrawl age.”

“I’m not that much older than you!” Wash spat out, shocked and mortified that this was even a subject they were discussing.

“Yeah, and I have a teenager about to graduate high school. How’s that for feeling old?” Tucker mocked. “Dude, we weren’t kidnapped by bad guys because they’re worried about _you_ and want _you_ to fall into their traps. This is for Junior.”

Washington allowed silence to wash over them for a moment, stewing.

“I am _not_ old,” Wash grumbled.

“You had yesterday off patrol duty, right?” Tucker reminded him.

“Yes,” Wash replied. 

“Do you remember what we did last night?” Tucker asked critically.

Thinking for a moment, Wash went over their entire day. “Ate leftovers and went to bed at nine,” he realized to his horror. “Tucker… we’re _old.”_

“We didn’t bone _once_ while Junior was out of the apartment,” Tucker bemoaned. “Which is unfortunate if you’re right and they come in here and slit our throats.”

Wash quirked an eyebrow beneath the blindfold. “How much do you actually want your last words to be lamenting the one time we’ve not had sex when your son was out?”

“Dude, don’t kinkshame me here, you’re the one who’s all hot and bothered about the _possibility_ of us getting our throats slit. _That_ deserves some speculation more than me missing natural, wholesome, dirty, awesome sex,” Tucker scoffed.

“If I could just record this for posterity,” Wash half joked, squirming again.

“Dude! Sensitive nipples, I’m really not playing here!” Tucker cried out in near horror.

Stopping, Wash threw his head back in annoyance only for the back of their skulls to collide and cause them both to go “Ow!” at the same time.

“Tucker, I’ve _got_ to get us free, even if we _are_ just… just…”

“You can’t even say it, you’re _that_ much in denial,” Tucker mocked. “Say it, Wash.”

“No,” he gritted out.

“Say it — you’re a dudesel in distress—“

“We will be out of here in, like, five seconds if you would just let me pull where I want to!” Wash all but snapped, arching away from his partner and causing their bare shoulders and necks to press against each other.

“What the fuck — are you _sweating?_ It’s cold as shit in here!” Tucker complained.

“Only in the places that are touching you,” Wash answered.

“Aw, you saying I get you all _hot and bothered?”_ Tucker asked as Wash pulled again. With that one, Tucker let out a genuinely angry snarl. “Wash, I said _stop_ with the restraints on the chest. I can’t take it!”

“And I’m telling you to suck it up! This might be our only way out of this alive,” Wash huffed. “Where else would you like for me to test the restraints?”

“Here,” Tucker said, jerking his hips.

Without warning, a shared restraint that had been rested tightly across Washington’s thighs pulled up with Tucker’s jerking motion, and it slid over the fabric of his boxers to some overtly sensitive areas. Washington couldn’t help himself but to gasp out and arch back against the pull which only further strained the fabric overlaying his crotch.

“T-Tucker, _stop!”_ Wash commanded, barely gasping down any air.

“Pfft, not so happy when _you’re_ on the receiving end, huh?” Tucker chuckled blissfully.

“You’re complaining about sensitive nipples like always,” Wash rationalized. “ _I,_ on the other hand, have a very, _very_ good reason for you to not pull that little maneuver again.”

“Why? Because you can’t take what you dish out?” Tucker snorted.

“How about because _both_ of us would be unhappy if _my_ sensitive area gets damaged!” Wash shouted.

“Holy shit, Wash, don’t _scream_ for the bad guys to hear that you got your balls pinched,” Tucker marveled. “ _That’d_ be embarrassing for your rogues gallery to know.”

“I’m seriously questioning how someone has not come in here and killed us by now with all this bickering,” Wash said before taking pause and trying to understand the information he was processing. “Wait, Tucker, why didn’t that hurt you any?”

“What? You want me to get pinched, too? You already played handsy with my ass—“

“I’m trying to give us an escape, _please_ work with me,” Washington all but begged before there was another pull and he felt the straps across his thighs rasp against boxers again. He was ready to yell at Tucker when he realized that the shift had been a little more subtle than the last time, smoothly gliding over the fabric instead until it tightened across his crotch but not in a painful way. It was a hard pull, rubbing the fabric against his skin and creating a bustling friction that was stirring the muscles of his abdomen. He couldn’t even make words at first, just completely taken aback by the feeling.

When his brain stopped skipping, Wash rasped out, “ _Tucker_ ,” and tried not to concentrate on how the back of his partner against his own back, the friction of his boxers, and the thick straps restraining them against each other was the only sensation he had at the moment.

“Stop complaining, I can _see_ remember? I’m getting us a way out,” Tucker promised, not getting at all what was happening on Wash’s end apparently.

Wash began to finally formulate a response that would let Tucker know exactly why they needed to stop when he suddenly felt his partner’s back pressing closer to his own, their arms scraping against one another, elbows rough. It was all so vivid while Wash was stuck without his vision.

He could feel Tucker’s skin slide over his own and rub from the back of his arm to the side to the front.

The closeness was lessening the strain from the bindings at least, but Washington found that gave him little relief from the strain he had been most concerned about toward the beginning of the maneuver.

Tucker’s shift continued until, finally, the bindings began to pull them together again, hard, and Wash realized that with a grunt, Tucker and he were no longer on their sides, but that Washington’s back was against the ground, and he had Tucker’s sharp but all too familiar chin digging into his collarbone.

“Well, shit, it didn’t break,” Tucker bemoaned.

Coughing in discomfort, Wash wiggled beneath him. “What exactly was the plan here, Tucker?”

“To get loose, duh,” Tucker replied. “But even if I didn’t, I’m _really_ glad to have you against my nipples instead of that leather shit.”

“Happy to be of service,” Wash replied flatly.

“Really?”

“No,” Wash huffed, wiggling again, looking for some way to hide what he knew was going to come up next.

“Well, well,” Tucker chuckled. “Did you sneak a knife in here after all or are ya just happy to feel me, Wash?”

“ _That,”_ Wash hissed, exasperated, “is entirely _your_ fault.”

“Agreed. Bow chicka bow wow.”

“God, you’re the _worst_ husband. Ever. Of all time,” Wash said, beginning to rock back for some sense of his environment, of anything around him and Tucker that he could use as an edge or file — _something_ to help with the bindings. But that movement—

“Okay, fuck, dude, you’re getting me all rubbed up now, too,” Tucker warned.

“That’s not part of my plan, I assure you,” Wash said flatly.

“Yeah? Well maybe it should be,” Tucker replied. “When’s the last time we spiced things up?”

“Are you _seriously_ asking that right now?” Wash asked, baffled a bit.

“Have you seriously not considered that we’ve done little beyond the horizontal tango. And even _that_ we both realized had been a while just earlier?” Tucker asked in just as seriously baffled a tone.

“We could _die,”_ Wash reminded him.

“We could be rescued!” Tucker attempted to argue.

“ _By your son,”_ Wash reminded him snappishly.

Tucker went quiet. “Oh, right. That _could_ be a little awkward.”

“Exactly, so how about we work together — _for once_ — and try to get out of this with as little ridiculousness as possible, hmm?” Wash asked.

“God, I hate when you get _that_ tone in your voice,” Tucker huffed. “Total boner killer.” He paused and jerked against Wash which got him the guttural noise he was apparently looking for. “Except for yours — dude you’re so hard right now, aren’t you?”

“Tucker—“ Wash warned, flustered and feeling the heat race across his cheeks.

“It makes total sense, how have I never figured this out before,” Tucker marveled. “Adventuring, danger, _life-and-death_ — superheroing is like literal sex for you! You even slip out in the middle of the night to get yourself some more action on the side! All these years, how could I have been so blind?”

“If you’re done lampooning me, I’d like to remind you that _I’m_ the one currently dealing with blindness so maybe you could do more to describe the room, look for tools we could — I don’t know, roll over to and use,” Wash attempted.

“No way, this is much funnier, and honestly I’m kinda pissed you’re enjoying this so much,” Tucker replied quickly.

“I am _not_ enjoying this! I’m trying to get us _free!”_ Wash bemoaned.

"You’re sweating and have a boner! I’ve not even done that much,” Tucker argued immediately. 

“Both of those are directly your fault!” Wash’s voice cracked.

Tucker paused against him for a moment then snickered. “Aw, you know, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me in a while.”

“Oh, shut up,” Wash growled, beginning to strain back again and really test the limits of the restraints.

Except Tucker also began moving and then it was a building friction, with Tucker’s chin still grating up and down from Wash’s collarbone to the crook of his neck, their chests sliding slickly against each other through the sweat. 

With a gulp, Wash could feel the way his firm cock was pressing into Tucker’s abdomen and then, as his husband moved, pressing against the fabric and against the unmistakable sinews of muscle the ran over Tucker’s thigh. 

He could feel _everything,_ and for fuck’s sake, for _once_ why couldn’t Tucker have actually been exaggerating about how erect his nipples where. It was like pebbles scraping against Wash’s own chest. 

“Fuck, that felt good. In a claustrophobic kinda inducing way,” Tucker mused. 

“We have… we have to escape,” Wash managed to get out, though his brain was growing uncomfortably fuzzy.

“Dude, we have to get our rocks off before we can think of doing anything else,” Tucker breathed hotly against Wash’s jawline. “When’s the last time we had this kinda thrill?”

“Our lives are at stake,” Wash said more clearly just before Tucker bit against his neck sharply. “Tucker!”

But then Tucker moved again, and the bindings held them together so tightly despite it, and somewhat counterproductively Wash felt his body move into the space, tightening against Tucker’s body and mimicking his movements rather than doing the _opposite_ which would have strained the restraints and possibly begun the breaking of them–

 _Fuck,_ who was he even kidding at that point?

Shifting so that he could press his nose into Tucker’s shoulder, better finding it so he could bite his partner’s shoulder, holding him somewhat still as he ground up against Tucker. 

“You dick,” Tucker breathed out with warm laughter, pulling and sliding and grinding as well.

It was clumsy and grating and they had the finesse of a middle schooler rubbing one off for the first time, but when it all finished with Tucker groaning into Wash’s ear and it was one of the best sounds he had heard in a long time. 

Breathing became the only sound in the darkness, Tucker sprawled lifelessly over him, the bindings somewhat looser now that they weren’t struggling against them anymore for feeling. 

And of course, without sight, Wash was left only with the noise and the feeling – the sweat and the weight of his husband across him. The mess they had made between them. 

“Fuck, we’re not getting out of this are we?” Wash finally said. “Someone is going to rescue us like this.”

“Oh, fuck,” Tucker said, too.

The silence became overwhelming. 

“So I’ll help with those restraints for real now,” Tucker finally said.

“You’re still naked, how’re we going to get out of here?” Wash demanded.

“Can we ask that _after_ we make sure Junior doesn’t see us stuck together at the literal waist?” Tucker asked, sounding finally as hysterical as Wash had when all of it had started. 

“Right,” Wash said back, and they feverishly began finding a way out.

About the time when the door opened and, in harmony, they muttered “Fuck.”


End file.
